State of Siege

THIRTY-EIGHT

Reynold Downer lay Georgiev’s bloody body down while Etienne Vandal knelt over him.

“You better go back to the door,” Vandal said. “They may try to come in again.”

“I will,” Downer said. He pulled his bloodred gloves from under Georgiev and looked across the room. The smaller of the two terrorists was running down the stairs. That meant Sazanka had taken the hit. Downer watched as Barone bent over him. The Uruguyan stood and dragged a finger across his throat. Their pilot was dead.

Downer swore. So did Vandal. Downer looked down.

Vandal had removed Georgiev’s mask. Only it wasn’t Georgiev who was lying on the landing.

“Then they’ve got him,” Downer said. “I thought I heard noise out there. The bastards have got him.” He spit on the American-looking face that lay lifeless on the carpet.

Vandal pulled back the man’s glove and felt for a pulse. He dropped the man’s wrist. “He’s dead.” Vandal looked down at the bodies lying near the gallery. “Those were UN security police who came in, and I’ll bet this man was with them. But who were those other two?”

“Probably undercover police,” Downer said. “Working security for the party.”

“Then why didn’t they move sooner?” Vandal wondered aloud. “Try and save the delegates?”

“Maybe they sent some kind of silent signal for reinforcements,” Downer said. “They were just waiting.”

“I don’t think so,” Vandal said. “They almost seemed surprised when they saw the United Nations team come in.”

Downer went back up the stairs, and Vandal turned and hurried down the steps. He was worried about the doors, though he didn’t really think there would be another attack now. The UN forces had gotten hurt. They took away the wounded girl, but he didn’t think that was their objective. They came in looking like they wanted to establish a beachhead. Four in with reinforcements waiting to move through the center. Why didn’t the reinforcements pull the girl out?

The firefight had put the hostages low on the floor or sent them ducking under the table. Vandal would leave them where they were for now. There was a lot of sobbing and whimpering, but everyone had been rattled by the attack. No one was going anywhere.

Vandal reached the two people who had been killed at the foot of the gallery. They were Asian. He squatted and checked the pockets of the man’s jacket. He had a Cambodian passport. There was a connection, at least. Georgiev was into a number of unsavory businesses during the UNTAC operation, from spying to prostitution. Maybe this was supposed to be some kind of payback. But how did they know he was here?

Barone had come over. Vandal dropped the passport and rose.

“Is he dead?” Barone asked, nodding toward Georgiev.

“It isn’t him,” Vandal said.

“What?”

“They got him when he went out,” Vandal said. “Made a switch.”

“Who would have thought they had the cajones?” Barone said. “That could be why the security team came in. They were following their man’s lead.”

“Very possibly,” Vandal said.

Barone shook his head. “If he gives them information about the bank accounts, then even if we get out of here with the money, they’ll take it right back.”

“Agreed,” Vandal said.

“So what do we do?” Barone asked.

“We still have what they want,” Vandal said, thinking aloud. “And we still have the means to kill the hostages if the security forces come in again. So I suggest we stick to our plan with two differences.”

“What?” Barone asked.

Vandal turned toward the conference table. “We tell them we want cash,” he said as he walked forward, “and we speed up the clock.”

His eyes moved from the empty seat where the girl who ran had been sitting. They settled on Harleigh Hood. There was something about her, something defiant, that hit him wrong.

He told Barone to get her.